Gaze locked on the door to his chamber, Sarah sat in the chair beside his desk, worrying the nail of her thumb with her teeth.
Studying her, Arthur straightened his cuffs. Upon her arrival, she’d lowered herself into that chair and had barely moved since. He’d attempted to jostle a smile from her with outlandishness, had even tried for anger with a false statement he knew she would object to—she was altogether passionate on the subject of cricket and wouldn’t hear a word against her beloved Marylebone—but to no avail.
She was clearly too concerned by the upcoming meet with her former father-in-law.
He abandoned his cuffs. “It will be all right.”
She didn’t respond.
“Sarah.” Still not a word. “Sarah.” Finally, she met his gaze. The worry in her eyes only caused him more concern. “It will be all right.”
“I know.”
“I’m an excellent solicitor.”
“I know.” But she wouldn’t stop worrying her nail.
He pushed himself from his chair and made his way to her. Crouching before her, he took both her hands in his. “Stop.”
Her fingers lay curled loosely in his grip. “I can’t help it. It could all go so terribly wrong.”
“It could also go fantastically right.” Running his thumb over her knuckles, he tried to think of the argument that would convince her. He would bring all his considerable skills to bear on this case. They had the law on their side. There was little to go wrong, but nothing in life was certain, and Sarah seemed determined to focus on that little. She’d been too long alone in this. The Wetheralls had done a thorough job of convincing her she had no recourse, but that was patently not true.
She had him.
“Do you trust me?”
“Mostly.”
His lips twitched. Only Sarah. “If not me, do you trust I’m an excellent solicitor?”
She scowled. “Damnation, Arthur, is it even possible for you to think more highly of yourself?”
He shrugged.
Slowly, the sneer bled from her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said such. I—” She closed her eyes, took a breath. “Yes. I trust you are an excellent solicitor.”
He squeezed her hands. “Then don’t worry.”
She didn’t reply and, extracting her hand, started to worry her nail once more.
He frowned. “Sarah—”
A knock sounded at the door.
They both tensed, her fingers clenching convulsively on his, her blue eyes filled with worry. He felt the same trepidation before any confrontation, but this was like nothing he’d experienced…because this time it was for her.
Rising, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and made his way to his chair. Composing himself to his best advantage, he said, “Come.”
The door opened and Dunn entered the room, his expression pinched. “The Wetherall party, sir.”
Arthur could only guess what had occurred prior to his clerk opening the door. None of it could be good. “Thank you. Show them in.”
Dunn nodded and stood aside to allow a man clothed in expensive and well-tailored garb entry, followed by a veritable fleet of solicitors. Clearly Sarah’s father-in-law, Wetherall strode to the chair before Arthur’s desk and lowered himself to it without pausing for invitation.
With their client seated, his solicitors lined up like toy soldiers behind him. There were five of them, all dressed in sober clothes that proclaimed them from one of the wealthier chambers, with grim determination stamped upon their features.
It was intended to be marvelously intimidating. To most, it probably would be.
Dunn cleared his throat. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
Glancing at his clerk, Arthur said, “No. Please ensure we aren’t disturbed.”
Turning his regard to Wetherall, Arthur did his damnedest to ignore Sarah. She’d reacted poorly to the appearance of the man, blood draining from her already pale face. Damnation, he couldn’t allow anger or protectiveness to color his interactions with the man, although there were several things he would like to undertake, most of them varying degrees of violence.
Pushing emotion to the side, he said, “Thank you for attending, Wetherall. I thought it prudent to address the matter in person.” He glanced at the line of grim-faced lawyers. “Though I had not anticipated you bringing your solicitors.” Did Wetherall think more solicitors made him more correct?
Wetherall waved a hand in dismissal. “Let’s get this over with, Davenport. This has taken up enough of my time as it is.”
“I understand. Let us get straight to the point. You challenge my client’s inheritance of her late husband’s estate. I should like if you would detail your concerns.”
Wetherall’s breath exploded in disgust. “That should have been in the letters.” He scowled at his solicitors. “What am I paying you for?”
Arthur leaned forward. “Your reasons were outlined, but it would help clarify matters if you would detail them in your own words.”
Wetherall’s expression turned to disgust. “My son left that which does not belong to him to her. That money and property was intended for the legacy of the Wetheralls. She is not entitled to something that never belonged to him.”
Arthur kept his expression neutral, though it a struggle when Wetherall defamed Sarah in such a way. “My understanding is the estate and wealth originated with your son’s mother, and was passed to him upon her death.”
Wetherall scowled. “Semantics.”
No. Legalities. Still, it was not yet time to challenge him. “And you also question Mrs. Wetherall’s ability to manage her wealth?”
“She’s foolish, always has been. A ninnyhammer like her should not be in control of her own address book, much less wealth and property.”
Keep calm. “A woman should not be allowed to control wealth. She is silly and flighty and will lose it all before the year is out,” he said, though it took all his will to utter such repellent words. Bloody hell, had the man met Sarah? She would maintain whatever funds she had and probably even increase them by a comfortable percent each year.
“Exactly.” Wetherall glared at Sarah. “Did you really think you could steal from me, girl? First my son, and then his money?”
Raising her chin, Sarah didn’t reply, her gaze firmly locked somewhere to the left of Wetherall’s shoulder between the first and second solicitor.
Arthur’s hands clenched into fists.
Wetherall’s lip curled. “I will not allow Wetherall money to be spent on your frivolous desires. It will be returned to our coffers and, as I’m feeling generous, we will forward you a stipend, one more in keeping with what you actually require.”
Arthur really, really wanted to hit him. “So what is it, precisely, you desire?”
Turning his attention from Sarah, Wetherall said, “I want what was intended, from the moment I married his mother. I want that house, and I want the inheritance his mother left him, against my wishes.”
Arthur hoped to God he displayed none of the contempt he felt. “I see. Was there anything else?”
“She is not entitled to his money. It began as Wetherall money, and so it shall stay.”
This man was a buffoon. An absolute buffoon. “So I’m to understand your son, Robert Wetherall, inherited a property and liquidity from his mother, your late wife.”
“Good God, man, what do you think we’ve been about all this time?”
Arthur ignored him. “He then wed Mrs. Wetherall, nee Stanhope, against your wishes and at the time of his unfortunate passing, had not yet made a Last Will and Testament.”
Wetherall simply glared coldly.
“Thus, I ask—how do you think yourself entitled to any of Robert Wetherall’s estate?”
“I am his father.”
“And Mrs. Wetherall was his wife. The law is clear on this point, Mr. Wetherall. Your son had no will, thus his wife inherits.” He glanced at the solicitors stood behind. “And they have told you that, haven’t they?”
“It is not her money, nor her land. It is mine. I married his mother for it, and it shall stay in our family!”
There was no need to reply to a statement so clearly incorrect in law.
Wetherall banged his fist on the chair arm. “What will she do with the property? That should be deeded to us immediately!”
“You desire this property? Perhaps Mrs. Wetherall will sell it to you.” Arthur glanced at Sarah. She stared stonily back. “Well. Perhaps.”
The man was almost spluttering. “I know the Duke of Sowrith, sir.”
“Do you?” Arthur raised a brow. “I know the law.
That shut the man up. In point of fact, he appeared not unlike a fish.
There was no longer a point to humoring the man. “You will find Mrs. Wetherall is no longer unrepresented. Any challenge you raise will ultimately be fruitless. As a kindness, Mrs. Wetherall will not claim legal expenses.” Leveling his gaze upon the man, he allowed all his contempt to shine through. “You may go.”
Wetherall stood, almost scarlet with rage. “You cannot do this.”
“No. You cannot do this. Good day, Wetherall.” Arthur picked up his pen and scratched out something. His hand shook.
“This will not be the end of it,” Wetherall said.
Ignoring him, Arthur continued to scratch at the page.
Clearly stymied by Arthur’s lack of response, Wetherall stormed from the room, his solicitors following him silently.
Once the door shut, Arthur dropped his pen and shot to his feet. Back and forth he paced, over and again, until calm finally began to settle upon him.
Bloody hell. He hoped never again to represent someone he cared so deeply about.
Smiling ruefully, he turned to her. “Well. That went quite well.”
She exploded from her chair. “How could you?”
Shock at the vehemence of her action held him captive. “What?”
“That didn’t go well at all.”
“What?”
“That went terribly.”
He shut his mouth with an audible snap. “In what possible universe did that go terribly?”
Crossing her arms, she shook her head. “You don’t know anything.”
And the old bloody argument returned. “This is clear, Sarah. This is black and white. The law cannot be disputed, no matter that Wetherall claims he knows a duke. Your husband’s estate passes to you, and that’s the end of the matter. They cannot win. In this instance, the law is specific and absolute.”
She pressed her lips together.
Damnation, but she drove him spare. “What? What is it? What did I do wrong?”
Turning her head, she presented him with her cheek.
Bloody hell, was she a child? “Sarah, what?”
“You agreed I was an idiot!”
He—what?
She pointed at his chest. “You agreed I was a fool. A ninnyhammer. A silly female without an ounce of brain between my pretty ears.” Voice rising in volume, she all but shouted the last.
He recovered his voice. “Are you touched?”
“Are you now saying I’m mad?” she said dangerously.
Ignoring her, he said, “Did you wish this matter resolved?”
“That doesn’t—”
“Did you wish the matter resolved?”
Silence fell. “Yes,” she finally said.
“I agreed with him to get him on-side. I agreed with him to resolve the matter.” And he hadn’t agreed, he merely hadn’t disagreed, but he refused to split hairs on such a baseless accusation.
Setting her jaw, she crossed her arms again. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve validated all his beliefs.”
“We got the result we wanted. Who cares what he thinks?”
She didn’t reply.
His breath exploded. “Sarah? Why do you care?”
She shook her head.
Brows drawn, he stared at her. How did things go so bad so quickly? Something was going on here. Something he didn’t understand. “Sarah, tell me.”
Squaring her shoulders, she leveled her gaze upon hm. “I’m leaving.”
Anger exploded, at her stubbornness and her contrariness and…and…. “You can’t just say such and then leave.”
“And yet, I am.” She started for the door.
With a long stride, he stood before her and blocked her way. “I won’t let you.”
“You won’t ‘let’ me do anything! I am—I have a brain, I can make my own choices and you will not stop me. You will not.”
Shocked, he took a step back and that was all she needed to push past him, running from the room as if the devil were on her tail.
He stared after her. What had just happened? She had behaved completely without reason and had run out the door before he could discover her concern.
Rubbing a hand through his hair, he exhaled. He remembered before her, when life was calm. Ordered.
Boring.
Now that she was back in his life, he would fight tooth and nail if she thought to leave it. Something had angered her to which he was not privy, something clearly irrational and deeply felt. He would give her—and himself—a day, and then they would talk. There was a misunderstanding of some description, and he would not allow it to part them. They’d done that enough as children.
He would let her leave today, yes, but he would not let her leave his life. He was better with her. He wanted her with him, always.